It's the Thought That Counts
by Amindaya
Summary: Unrelated Death Note drabbles, all with a gift theme. MelloXNear.
1. Gift Exchange

**Gift Exchange**

"What are you doing, Near?" Mello asked loudly, startling the white-haired boy and causing him to drop the puzzle piece he had been considering.

Near turned to look at Mello, his look inscrutable, before turning back to his work. He picked up the blank puzzle piece he had been holding and drew a line down the center with a black felt-tip pen.

Mello saw that all the pieces of this puzzle were blank.

"How are you supposed to put them together if they don't have anything on them?"

"Shape," Near replied tonelessly. Mello continued to watch in silence as Near picked up another blank piece, looked at it for a moment, and then drew a half circle. He deposited the piece in a pile to his left and picked up another blank piece from the pile in front of him.

"Let me draw, too," Mello demanded. He took the pen from Near's hand and scribbled on the piece he was holding, making sure to mark his fingers in the process. Near needed to wear more black, anyway—the white hair and pajamas made him look too weak.

That was a good idea! He would color Near's clothes black. More fun that coloring some stupid puzzle pieces. He drew a jagged line from the collar of Near's shirt to halfway down his sleeve. Near turned his blank eyes to look at the black mark.

He blinked.

Near looked up at Mello, his face expressionless, and said, ever so eloquently, "You wrote on me."

Mello grinned. Near was such an idiot. "Why are you drawing on puzzle pieces, anyway?" Mello asked as Near picked up yet another piece, deciding to leave this one blank. He sat it aside in the small pile directly in front of Mello.

"I want the puzzle to say Merry Christmas."

Mello snorted. Near was such an idiot. "Wouldn't it be easier to put it together first, and _then_ write Merry Christmas on it?"

Near blinked and paused, the felt tip poised over the last puzzle piece. "In retrospect…yes." 

XXXXXX

On Christmas morning, Mello received a gift under the tree. He shook it around, trying to figure out what it was. It rattled noisily. When he was no longer satisfied with doing that, he ripped the paper and unceremoniously dumped the contents of the box onto the ground.

He looked in confusion at the puzzle pieces strewn across the carpet. Who in their right mind would give him a puzzle? It was Near who liked puzzles, not Mello.

"I should have guessed you would do that," said a quiet voice from behind him. Near's white clothing and hair reflected the colorful lights of the Christmas tree. He knelt next to Mello and reassembled the puzzle before Mello's eyes. The sounds of the other children were completely blocked out as Mello watched the gift take shape.

_Merry Christmas, Mello,_ it read in simple, blocky lettering. Mello turned to glare at Near.

They stared at each other for a few long moments, Near idly twirling his hair and Mello flaring his nostrils.

"Here." Mello reached under the tree and grabbed a poorly-wrapped present, shoving it into Near's arms. He walked away quickly, muttering, "Stupid Near."

Near unwrapped the misshapen lump in his hands to find a black t-shirt. Or rather, the white t-shirt he had noticed missing last night, now covered in black marker.


	2. All I Want

**All I Want**

It was a stupid tradition, in Mello's opinion. Really, what was the point in caroling at an orphanage? Wasn't caroling something one did for their neighbors? If all the kids in the orphanage lived in the same place, then they were _not_ neighbors. Near tried to argue with him about this, but Near was stupid, so Mello didn't pay him any attention.

It served Near right that he was forced to be in the caroling group. Even if that did mean that Mello had to stand with all the others and listen.

When he got outside, Mello decided that it hadn't been a good idea to wear the black t-shirt he planned to wear to bed, because it was _cold, _especially standing here with nothing to do besides listen to orphans show their pathetic Christmas spirit.

Mello often considered changing his attire to something more substantial—something more mature, perhaps intimidating. He reasoned that one did not gain respect wearing checkered pajama bottoms. So throughout the concert, Mello was lost in his own world, creating his dream wardrobe. It consisted of things he wasn't allowed to wear now, like leather pants and big buckled boots (the orphanage had a strict no-shoes policy indoors). And he promised that when he grew up, at least one bar of chocolate would forever be within his reach.

He was in the process of taking a mental inventory of each of his snuggly fitting items and storing them away in his memory for later when a noise abruptly cut though his fantasies and brought him back to awareness.

Near stood at the front of the group, dressed in white, one finger buried deeply in his hair and twirling away. Mello suspected that the reason Near's hair looked somewhat curly was his annoying habit of twisting his hair around his index finger.

But more important than Near's appearance was the sound coming from his mouth: a clear, angelic voice that could not possibly belong to someone like him.

Near was perfect—he was always first in everything, and then on top of that he had to go and have a _talent_. It wasn't fair.

Mello watched the carolers finish in awe. After Near concluded his solo, all of the children and adults clapped for him, and Mello was the only unenthusiastic one in the bunch.

And Near stood, not quite basking in the attention but acknowledging it all the same, twirling his hair. He stayed put until the other members of the caroling group had passed him on their way to the door, and then he fell in at the end of the group.

He was almost inside when a quiet voice from behind him caught his attention.

"Near." He turned around, and his vision was filled with glowing amber eyes. Near took a step backward, confronted with the fact that he didn't have anywhere to go when he bumped into the railing. Mello didn't stop coming forward, didn't stop until his hands wrapped around the metal rail, one on either side of Near's body, effectively trapping him there.

Those eyes burned into him, and Near couldn't find his voice. Mello didn't seem to have that same problem; "Your voice is pretty," he accused.

Near blinked, his ears suddenly warmer for some reason. "Thank you."

Mello only scowled at him. Clearly, this was not the right thing to say. "You sing like a _girl_."

Near blinked again. "Thank you."

Mello threw his hands in the air, giving up, and turned around in a huff, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'stupid Near.'

But just as he opened the door to go inside, Near saw him glance back, and he noticed that Mello's cheeks were pink.

"Hmm," he mused as he followed the blond boy inside. It was quite obvious that Mello needed warmer clothing.

* * *

Near awoke with a start when he felt something foreign slip between his lips. By the time he realized it was a gag, the material had already been tied behind his head and his screams were not nearly impressive enough to draw attention. Recognizing defeat—his hands and feet had already been bound before he'd woken up—Near relaxed in the large beefy arms of his attacker. It was better to put up no resistance, so that the attacker would drop his guard and give Near the perfect chance to escape. 

"That's right, kid. Just do what I say and I won't have to hurt you," the man grunted. Near was shrouded in darkness as something came over his head. A bag of some sort, the material rough and thick. He was lifted unceremoniously over the man's shoulder.

He felt cool air on the bare skin of his hands, and soon after that, he was forced into a small, cramped space. He felt the distinct sensation of fluid movement, interrupted by stops here and there—a car, he surmised.

A while later, he was taken from the trunk and unceremoniously dumped on the ground, and the bag was removed from his head. Near blinked his eyes to adjust them to the sudden light, and caught sight of a familiar face.

"Mello? What's going on?"

Mello frowned. Near was so calm, not nearly as surprised or scared as he should have been. "I paid this man to kidnap you."

Near stared at him. "How?"

Mello had expected a different question, but he could be patient. "I've been saving my money," he couldn't help but boast, poking himself proudly in the chest with his thumb.

"Oh. That's why I haven't seen you eating chocolate lately," Near mused aloud. "I just thought you were saving up to buy someone a Christmas present."

"I was."

Near tilted his head curiously. He felt a strong urge to twirl his hair, but his hands were still tied. Didn't Mello just say he had used his saved money to pay a kidnapper? "Who is the present for, then?"

"The only person who matters to me," Mello said, staring intensely at Near, who gazed up at him with disbelief. When Near didn't get it, Mello snorted and put a hand to his chest; "Myself, obviously."

It became clear to Near, then. "…I'm your Christmas present."

Mello grinned. "Yes."

Near made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat; "Well, imagine that." He looked up at Mello, eyes wide. "I've never been a present before. What do I do?"

Mello blanked; he hadn't thought that far ahead…he rarely did. Frustrated, he yelled, "How am _I_ supposed to know?"

He threw a mild, speedy temper tantrum, before finally sitting on the edge of the desk and draping one long, checkered pajama-clad leg over the other.

He drew himself up, looking down his nose at Near. "I want you to sing for me," he commanded, as if this had been his intention all along.

"What should I sing?"

Mello scoffed. "Well, Near, I think that's obvious." When Near continued to stare at him, he poked him in the forehead. "Something Christmassy, stupid. You _are_ a Christmas present, after all."

And so Near sang well into Christmas morning—Mello seemed to particularly enjoy his solo, insisting that Near repeat it multiple times.

"_All I want for Christmas…is you."_

And Mello revised his earlier opinion. Perhaps there was something to be said about Christmas spirit, after all.

* * *

I got the idea for this from a joke I heard: 'If an old fat man ties you up and throws you in a big burlap sack…don't be scared, because I told Santa I wanted you for Christmas.' 

I've had this on my computer since Christmas, and I'm just now posting it...on the tenth of March. Oops.

There _will_ be more chapters, but not all of them will be Christmas related.


End file.
